My wife Carolina and I were at home in a large ranch-style house
which we owned outright. We were in the living room with my father and several other people who had stopped by to
visit. As we all lolled around,
my pet
Dalmatian Chaucer (also in the living room with us), became sick,
and began retching as if he were going to vomit. As Carolina tried
to help Chaucer, I looked for a paper to put in front
of him so he wouldn't throw up on the floor. When I found a
paper and turned back toward Chaucer, I noticed a large pile of
dark brown feces right in the middle of the floor.

My father, meanwhile, upset because Chaucer was in the house, was
trying to kick him and force him out of the room. I became
extremely angry with my father that he was acting that way toward
Chaucer, and I interjected myself between them so I could protect
Chaucer. I made as if I were also trying to kick Chaucer, but I
was only acting and I had no intention of actually kicking him. At
the same time I began screaming at my father, and realizing
the other people in the room were watching me, I hollered out
that he was treating Chaucer the same way he used to treat me
when I had been a small child. I exclaimed that when I had been
four or five years old, my father used to kick me and beat me.
All these years, since the time of my beatings, I had lived with
this resentment for my father. Now, this was the final straw,
that he was trying to treat my dog the same way he had treated me
when I had been small. Finally, in anger I walked up to my father
and called him a "fat pig."